"Welcome to the moon, Chief Calloway." It was the first time anyone had addressed him with that title, and Cal decided right away he liked it. In the LAPD he had been a tiny fish in a monstrous pond. It would have taken him ten years to make sergeant, another ten for lieutenant-and that was only if he lived long enough. L.A. policing was getting more dangerous by the day. Burnout was common, and when his best friend in Rampart Division hung himself over an internal affairs investigation, Cal knew it was time to move on. Now, as chief of North Armstrong's fledgling police department, he would be in charge, he would be The Man. And with a starting salary of $185,000-it was nothing less than a dream job. Sure; the stories of relentless larceny, exotic pharmacons, and violent miners were legendary, but compared to Los Angeles, how hard could it be? As the escort guided him away from the tarmac and toward the domed city's air lock, Cal had a question. "I was wondering; how many other people applied for this job?" The escort tapped in a key code. As the door slid open, the two of them stepped into the air lock. With assistance from the small enclosure's overhead lighting, Cal was able to get a good look at her expression through the helmet's faceplate. Her facial muscles were rigid, serious. "A couple hundred? A thousand? I suppose it must've been pretty competitive." The door slid closed and locked, then she turned to him and spoke. "You were the only applicant."